Pump Gas Like Jarvis

Julius worked part time at a gas station. He took people’s credit cards and pushed them in and pulled them out of the gas pumps. Fill regular. Ten dollars of premium. He hated the job.
Sometimes there were nice people but mostly it was just a bunch of working stiffs. He could tell the nine to fivers because they always said the same thing. The women were the meanest. Complain, complain, complain. Why is the gas so expensive? Like he was in charge of gas prices around the country. Get a bike if you can’t afford to drive.
When he started the job there was a young lady that flirted with him. She didn’t come by anymore. Today Julius was almost done pumping when a huge limousine pulled in. The driver passed a credit card. Julius checked the name. Elvis Lee. He started the gas pumping and pressed his face into the tinted windows. Two large dudes in suits were drinking beers and six little people were bouncing around on the seats. They were doing back flips and sumersaults. One of the large dudes noticed Julius and lowered the window.
“What you lookin at bud?” said the dude.
“Nothin. Would you like me to empty the trash?”
“That’s funny,” said the other dude. “Why don’t you come with us. We’re headed to truck driving school. Gonna teach these midgets to drive.”
“Yeah. I would love to drive trucks. Anything is better than this crap.” Julius put the gas nozzle back and jumped in the limo.
“I’m Eddie and this here’s Ben,” said the first dude.
The little people jumped off the seats and landed in a pyramid with their butts facing Julius. They shit six pellets at him and then chirped their names. Julius couldn’t understand what they said. Ben handed him a moist towellete and he wiped his face off.
“So you wanna drive trucks,” said Eddie.
“Sure. I’ve always looked up to truckers. Life on the road. Lot lizards. Driving through the night on meth and Schlitz.”
“It sure is glamorous,” said Ben. “We’ve got a lot of drivers that work for us. We’re training these guys to drive for the circus. They’ll be driving little trucks of piss.”
They pulled into the Dootson School of Trucking parking lot and walked to the front office. The doors were locked. The driver opened the trunk and pulled out a thirty pack of Schlitz and a couple of foldable chairs.
Julius grabbed a seat and cracked a malt liquor. He could wait. Anything was better than pumping gas. The little people exploded.

WordPress Themes